With Face to the West

Marie Anne
The Frontier Spirit of Marie Anne Lagimodière
Copyright 1984 Western Producer Book Service
246 pages,
ISBN 0-88833-138-X.

There were signs of panic among the men. That would only weaken their chance of survival, and Marie Anne found the strength to make a show of composure. Crouching low and clinging to Jean Baptiste's ankle, she shouted to the men that they were doing well and must keep it up. Her words may have been lost in the howl of the storm, but it helped to bolster her own spirits. A huge wave broke overhead and she struggled to bail water from the boat, praying silently for divine rescue.

Turning to see how her own canoemen were getting along, she caught a glimpse of one of the other canoes in trouble, and cried out: "Oh God, they need help over there." The other boat was almost swamped and the crew were throwing freight overboard, bailing water, and fighting with all their strength against the waves.

"Pray, Marie Anne, pray," she was saying to herself, but even as she said it, the other canoe tipped and disappeared under an enormous wave. Momentarily, all traces of the boat were erased and then it reappeared, bottom side up. The men from the overturned canoe went under, then came to the surface, struggling. Marie Anne could count eight of them in the water but knew they had no chance of swimming to the shore, and only a slight chance of being picked up by one of the three remaining canoes.

"Come this way," paddlers in Marie Anne's canoe bellowed, but the wind hurled the words back at them. Rescue seemed hopeless. It was all that men in the upright canoes could do to stay afloat, but the young lady could sit still no longer. Defying instructions to remain low and hold both sides of the canoe, she stood erect and shouted frantic words of encouragement to the strugglers in the water. It did no good, and a mountainous wave cut off her view. Only a tug from her husband's right arm pulled her down and prevented her from toppling overboard.

When visibility improved somewhat, she thought she could still see eight men in the water making perceptible progress. One of the men reached her canoe and was pulled over the side. A second man made it to one of the other canoes; then a third and a fourth were pulled from the water. Sad to say, two of the young men went under and did not reappear.

Marie Anne felt sick but knew this was no time to surrender her strength. The storm raged on and their lives remained in imminent danger; nobody was sure of surviving. She sank back into the squatting position and took a firmer grip on Jean Baptiste's ankle. The assurance that he was still there gave her fresh courage, and from the depths of her memory came the words of the old medicine man who spoke years earlier beside the little Maskinonge River: She will live long. Many times will her life be in danger but she will live long.

There was another reason why she must live: She thought of the child she believed she was carrying and of which she had not yet said anything; the thought seemed to rout her fears. Jean Baptiste must be told now, she decided. It would help him too.

"Ba'tiste," she called loudly as a splash of lake water struck her face. "Are you listening? We must live. Do you hear me? We must live for the child, your child, our child under my heart. We must live."

What a moment to reveal this personal information! But his eyes acknowledged that he heard. At the same instant, he heard the bowsman say, "The wind is dropping, boys. We're going to make it." Even the hardened old voyageur was moved to add: "Thank God."

All except the two men who were lost succeeded in reaching the lake's north shore. Exhausted and sad, they ate their corn meal and pork and wasted no time in preparing their beds. Even wet clothes and bedding would not prevent them from resting and catching snatches of sleep.

In the seclusion of their tent, the Lagimodieres talked about the baby Marie Anne believed she was carrying. Jean Baptiste tried to say something of the joy his wife's words brought to him, but sharing what was in his heart was not something he did easily, and he did little more than mutter some indistinct phrases. But his wife understood and wondered if their child would be the first of its race to be born in the new country.

He thought it likely that it would be; then, speaking like her guardian, he said: "You must take care of yourself. I will try to help you. You have to stop taking risks. Our baby comes first." He tried to find adequate words to tell her how much the men had admired her readiness to wade ashore after the storm in order to spare them as fully as possible, and that they were grateful for the encouragement and strength her words brought to exhausted men still battling with their paddles.

Many times during the night, men quit their beds to throw more wood on the fire and hover close to the flames until some warmth penetrated their wet clothes. Morning dawned bright and clear as though nature was trying to atone for the cruel treatment of the previous day. Nothing, however, would blot out the memories of that struggle, and nothing would remove the sadness occasioned by the loss of two colleagues. The men could carry their sorrows with them but as they knew very well, they would be expected to reload and be on their way to Fort William.

With a delay of an hour or two, the brigade was again in motion, this time with three canoes, three-quarters of the freight, and thirty-eight men instead of the original forty. They paddled closer to the shore line, thereby taking less chance of being caught in another storm. But in the remaining days of the journey to Fort William, paddling conditions were ideal and morale returned slowly but surely.

A young easterner making his first trip to the West found the lake to be distressingly big and asked why people didn't call it Superior Ocean. He was a happy fellow when he heard Dorian call out, "Cheer up! Tomorrow we'll see Fort William."